𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨

about the detectives from the findjackwalten website aka derek collins and frank davis uu i like them
tw: mention of drugs
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Derek shifted in his seat, observing the girl sitting across from him. She had a styrofoam cup of coffee and she hadn't taken a sip–not yet. Instead, she was staring deep into the coffee, like it was the only thing she could make herself look at without throwing up.

"Listen, Ms Walten–"

"Sophie." She murmured, her curtain of curls resembling the swirls of dissolving latte in her cup. "Just Sophie."

"Sophie. All we need to know is if you're okay with us investigating the home. And maybe get some more details." Derek took a sip of his cold coffee, wincing at the stale taste. They'd been sitting there for two hours, and all he'd gotten out of her was how exactly her mother was acting before she went missing. She barely remembered anything–that's what she told him. Maybe he should advise her to get a therapist soon...

Her tired voice cut through his thoughts like a dull knife against wood. "It's fine. Can I go now? I have to study."

"Of course." Derek waved towards the one way window, and a tall man entered along with a shorter one. Sophie's head shot up at his entrance, and Derek heard her knee hit against the bottom of the bland metal table as she scrambled to get up.

"Mr Kranken." The detective greeted coldly, twisting in his chair to meet the fogged eyes of Felix Kranken. He could practically smell the alcohol laden man from where he was seated. "Frank, what's the report?"

Frank in question chuckled sarcastically, black curls reflecting the bland flicker of the room's light. Sophie had already left, no where to be seen and probably eager to get out of the station. Who wouldn't be if some guy was constantly questioning her about a family she seems to barely remember? "This guy's been let go. They gave him a DUI and took away his driver's license, so. I was just taking him to the outside, but you called me over. What's up?"

"I was actually waving to Rogers, but sure. We're doing an investigation of the Walten house later. You're coming along." Derek picked up the cups left on the table, slightly irked by Felix's silence. The man hadn't spoken a word, and he was still wearing the clothes he was when they caught him. And the same ones that stunk of absolute alcohol. He was clearly getting worse.

Frank's lips curled up, taking his mustache along for the ride. "Of course I am, boss. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

And with that, he ushered Felix out and made sure to leave the door half open for when Derek decided to leave too. He did after a bit of contemplation, almost collapsing from exhaustion when he got out of the boxed off questioning room and into the main part of the station. Where it didn't smell like sweat and stale coffee. It did smell like stale coffee, actually, it was just covered up by the smell of freshly printed paper and over-sweetened pastries that wafted around the place like free hand outs.

"Hey, boss. How's it going?" Rogers' Yankee drawl was the first voice to reach him, and he glanced away from the bitter coffee in his hands to the man's faintly tanned face. He'd clearly outgrown his golden tresses, because Derek could see the dead brown roots burrowing in his dry scalp.

"The investigation's going to shit. Like usual." Derek admitted reluctantly, placing the cups near the trashcan for some unsuspecting victim to take a sip of. "I'm really starting to give up."

Rogers shook his head, ever the positive one of the two. "We'll find something eventually, Collins. You give up too easily."

"And you're too hopeful." Derek ran a hand through his thinning grey hair, trying to drag out the headache that had taken residence in his skull. When that didn't work, he rummaged through his leather jacket's pockets until his finger scratched against a silver strip of plastic lumps and extracted them from the mess of items he kept around.